


Happy Ending

by Felgia_Starr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Bittersweet Ending, DFW Halloween Trope Fest, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Postpartum Depression, Potions Accident, Prompt Fic, Relationship Problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-09 12:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16450088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felgia_Starr/pseuds/Felgia_Starr
Summary: During a moment of desire, Hermione and Draco sneak out of Prosperfae University's annual Haunted Halloween Ball Party and go to the nearest deserted classroom, which just so happens to be a Potions classroom. Everything is going so smoothly—Hermione's top-half is bare, Draco is ready to take off his trousers, and they are having the most passionate of kisses—but then they hear something break.Written for DFW's Halloween Trope Fest.





	1. SERENA

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is written for Dramione Fanfiction Writers' Halloween Trope Fest. The trope I got was 'Potions Accident.' Even though my head was pounding most of the time I wrote this story, I still immensely enjoyed writing the scenes and whatnot. Hope y'all enjoy this one as well! Happy Halloween, everyone!
> 
> This piece was beta'd by ArabellaGaleotti! If you're reading this, dearie, thank you so much! Go check her out! She writes Marvel stuff!

**  
  
PART ONE: SERENA**  

_Serena— the song of a lover waiting impatiently for the evening (to consummate his love)_

**. . .**

Her eyes. Draco had fallen in love with her eyes first. Bright, brown, and almost comically round, her eyes had the ability to make him feel all sorts of emotions. With one glare of hers, his heart would palpitate in an embarrassing fit of nervousness. Whenever tears would wet her lashes, it was enough for his walls to come crumbling down for. Her eyes had always been his weakness. And boy, were they weakening him now.  
  
The Wizarding University of Prosperfae’s annual Haunted Halloween Ball Party was being held tonight, in the Alchemy Tower. The decorations, the food, the drinks, the lights, and the music had all been prepared and made by him and his course-mates, or well, just him.

It was their second major term project, and it had almost driven him to insanity. Most of his course-mates were lazy, stupid, and, frankly, useless. He had spent sleepless nights working on décor while his colleagues had gotten drunk and high on barely-legal potions. He'd practically done this whole party by himself.  
  
But that was all over now. Draco had already told his Professors that his course-mates did pretty much nothing. He was now sure that half of them were going to fail this term.  
  
The party was a yearly costume-themed event, mostly catered to Prosperfae’s pupils. The party began at 6:15 p.m. and adjourned at 11:00 pm. By the end of the night, two students (one male and one female) were crowned as “King and Queen of Hallows’ Eve”. What was so great about the competition was only pupils who put an effort in their costumes could win (looking scary would also help).

The winners were chosen by the hosts (this year it was the Alchemy students.) The King and Queen’s prizes were appropriately themed: a set of potions—one vial of Potion, Alihotsy Draught, Draught of the Living Death, and three vials of the Drink of Despair—and of course, golden crowns to signify their superiority.  
  
It was a fun party. When he had been in his first year in Prosperfae, he and Hermione had won their first night of the Haunted Halloween Ball Party. Draco had gone as a Muggle demon and Hermione had somehow transformed herself into a harpy for the night. To this day, she still would not tell him how she had done it.

Last year, he had dressed and magicked himself to look more like his father (for there was no man more terrifying). He had gotten a lot of laughs from that. Hermione had painted her skin blue and had gone as a human-sized pixie. He hated pixies, and he hadn’t liked her costume last year, but he could still remember her laughingly smile and the surprisingly lewd suggestion, _'you can help me wash it off?'_ He shook his head at the memory.  
  
This year was different. This year was both of their last years in Prosperfae University. This year was their last as students. This year, they focused more on education than winning a costume party.

Draco was dressed in style troubadour this year. His large woollen hat, obnoxiously green cloak, striped trousers, and his orange tunic had all been transfigured, having only put an effort into buying a lute that he had actually learned to play. He’d mostly taught himself to play a song about courtly love to impress his _petite amie,_ Hermione. 

But he had been busy all night, rebuking reckless pupils who had broken a table or two, scolding whoever tried to dip their dirty fingers into the food, and chastising people who wanted to take one of the decorations he had worked hard on.  
  
When he finally managed to breathe and take a seat, Draco made eye contact with the one girl he’d actually been looking forward to seeing this evening, Miss Hermione Granger. And with her eyes, he fell in love with all over again.  
  
Her lids were hooded with shiny eyeshadow, making her eyes look more defined and prominent. Her eyes looked gorgeous. Hermione, as a whole, looked gorgeous.  
  
His own eyes inadvertently drifted to her painted lips when he noticed them curving up into a sinful red smirk. Because of the crowd that was separating them, Draco could not get a full view of what her costume was. He knew she had not attempted to look frightening, though—Hermione Granger would not put shiny Muggle makeup on her face if she wanted to scare off children.  
  
When some of the dancing pupils dispersed, Draco saw her arms around another man (specifically, a man dressed as a centaur) and that she was a siren. She was wearing a skin-coloured crop-top over her breasts and a smooth, shimmery tail replaced her sun-kissed legs.  
  
Another man’s hands were on his girlfriend’s bare waist, feeling up her curves and having the time of his life. A Slytherin-green shade of jealousy blinded his vision. Before he knew it, he was stalking towards her and her dance partner, ripping them apart rather forcefully.  
  
“Hands off my girl, mate,” he hissed to the quivering first-year.  A part of his brain noted that Draco the troubadour with a lute would not scare anybody. He looked more like a spurned lover than a man possessive of his girlfriend. He did not care, though. The siren was his, and only his. He would sacrifice his whole ship and crew for her.  
  
“Draco, stop,” he heard her scold behind him. “You’re embarrassing yourself in your own party.”  
  
She was right, of course. In his three blissful years of being with Hermione Granger, Draco had found out that she was always correct. How could she not be right at every encounter? She had read every book she set her eyes on, and probably more, knowing her. It was incredible.  
  
Her hand gripped his arm and pulled him rather painfully, practically pleading for him to let it go.  
  
And so, he did. He was her bewitched sailor, of course, and he did everything she wanted. He sent one last threat to the first-year before he let himself be dragged into the depths of the ocean by his siren.  
  
Apparently, the depths of the ocean were now the table for the Halloween-themed sweets. Draco took one of the pumpkin-shaped chocolates, swirling the thing around his tongue absentmindedly.  
  
“He fancies me,” Hermione suddenly spoke up. For a short brain-dead moment, Draco had no idea what she was talking about. As soon as it became clear that she was talking about the guy she had danced with, he stiffened uncomfortably. “That’s why he asked me to dance. He’s a kid, Draco.”  
  
“He’s 17,” he corrected, “and Greek.”  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “What does he being Greek have to do with anything?”  
  
He pouted petulantly. “You love Greece.”  
  
She snorted and took a cupcake from the table. “You’re really silly sometimes, you know.”  
  
Draco smiled uncontrollably when she nibbled small bits of the confection. He knew that she would be giving the cupcake to him soon. She hated pastry and sweets. She had once told him the bad things sweet food could do to his teeth. Above all things, Hermione cared for her oral health. She used at least two spells to clean her teeth before going to bed. Draco knew it was because of her parents. 

But hey, he couldn't fault her borderline obsessive ritual—when she had first taken him into her mouth, it had almost felt like taking a walk on the Elysian Fields.  
  
“You make me silly,” he told her.  
  
She grinned back at him and held out the cupcake for him to take. He graciously accepted the confection and finished it for her.  
  
“You look wonderful tonight, by the way.” Draco grazed his teeth over his lower lip, intently studying her body. 

She did look exceptionally wonderful tonight. Her golden tail complemented her skin beautifully and her natural brown curls were on full display tonight, wild and brazen. Of all her costumes throughout their years in Prosperfae, this was Draco’s personal favourite—mainly because this costume was more Hermione than actual costume. She showed off her real skin, and her costume was only the golden tail and top—if you could even call it that. “Absolutely stunning.”  
  
Her grin widened and a blush fell over her cheeks. “Thank you. What are you supposed to be, anyway?”  
  
Draco furrowed his eyebrows, feigning an offended expression and clutching his lute close to him defensively. “Well, I am your dreams in real life, milady.”  
  
She laughed, and the sound was more beautiful than anything his lute could ever produce. He almost backed out of playing the instrument for her. Almost.  
  
“Why are you standing before me without armour, dear sir?” asked his siren. She must have thought he was a knight. What a cliché. Draco never did anything banal.  
  
“I am no sir,” Draco said snottily. “I am the one who entertains the court, the one who lulls you to sleep, and the one who will sweep you off of your feet using words.”  
  
He played a song for her, plucking rather ridiculously on the strings of the instrument. Then it was time for the lyrics. His mother had made him take singing lessons as a child, but he had never taken them that seriously. He was starting to regret that. He sang a song about courtly love, about the things he was willing to do for her, and about how well he would treat her.  
  
He should have done this back in Hogwarts, back when they were Head Boy and Head Girl together. He never really formally courted her, he realized now. He had only asked her out to piss his parents off. Dating her would blow Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy’s minds. And it had—well, almost. He had never really expected that his being with Hermione would turn out genuine and, honestly, the best thing that had ever happened in his life. So he was grateful to her. She had made him happier than he could imagine.  
  
When he was done performing for her, she smiled and clapped cheerfully, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around him in a warm hug. He held his lute in one hand and returned the embrace.  
  
“You’re a great singer, sir,” she whispered into his ear. He almost shivered in slight shock when her breath washed over his lobe, but he refrained.  
  
“I’m not a sir,” he told her softly, “just a mere troubadour.”  
  
She slightly pulled away, her face now in front of his, but her arms remained around his neck.  
  
“Well, you’ve captured my heart, troubadour.” Then, she kissed him. For the smallest of moments, her lips were on his. She was off of him before he could even shut his eyes, smirking tantalizingly while licking a Sugar Quill she’d picked up from the table.  
  
He gripped her wrist, pushing the hand that was holding the sweet away, and put his lips back on hers. She let out a whimper when his tongue slid past her lips. Before her own tongue mingled with his, though, she pushed him away.  
  
“Not here,” she explained. “There are Professors around, Draco.”  
  
He raised a brow impishly. “So?”  
  
Hermione gave him an exasperated look. “So take me somewhere else! This is your tower, after all.”  
  
For one quick second, he cursed himself for being a dolt. He took hold of her delicate hand and quickly escorted her out of the party, into the mostly vacant hallway.  
  
Once they were out of the bustling Main Hall, Draco pinned his siren against the wall, his mouth seeking her lips impatiently. His hand searched for the doorknob they were next to and twisted it open when he found it.  
  
He let Hermione’s mouth go for a regrettable moment, ushering her inside the classroom and locking the door once they were both in.  
  
“You couldn’t have taken your lady to your bedchambers?” Hermione jested, red lips turned up in a teasing leer.  
  
Draco did not have any time for pissing around, choosing instead to ignore her, opting to put his lips on top of hers again for an answer.  
  
She chuckled as she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. He rested both his hands on her scaly bottom, enjoying the feel of her nicely-shaped derrière beneath his palms.  
  
A random question suddenly made its way into his head, and he got so distracted that he hadn’t even noticed his eyes were wide open. He pulled away from her.  
  
“How can you walk with a tail?” he blurted out, genuinely curious.  
  
Hermione frowned at his inquiry and then laughed. “Magic.”  
  
She turned her back around him, walking adorably in her magicked tail. It looked unnatural suddenly—a siren stomping around like some sort of human—but something in his heart softened as he watched her hop onto a stool, tucking her tail onto the crossbeam.  
  
“Sirens are not supposed to walk on land,” he mentioned, keeping his distance from her for now.  
  
She hummed in agreement, sucking on the Sugar Quill he’d already forgotten about. “And since when have I done things I’m supposed to?”  
  
Her lips were wrapped around tightly on the feathered side of the treat, pursing and sucking to get the sweet flavour on her tongue. That was all he could focus on now.  
  
She briefly took out the sweet from her mouth to give it a long, torturous lick.  
  
After that, he lost all inhibition and control. He made his way in front of her in three, huge, almost menacing steps.  
  
“Are we in the Potions classroom?” asked Hermione, seemingly not affected by his proximity.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So the Alchemy Tower only has one Potions classroom?”  
  
Draco held her face with both of his hands, caressing her cheeks lovingly, and responded, “No.”  
  
“How many?”  
  
He latched his lips onto her neck, sucking softly on the spot where he knew she liked best. “Probably a hundred.”  
  
She gasped when Draco’s teeth nipped at her neck. She had once told him that she liked foreplay better than sex, that she loved the kisses, licks, and nibbles better than actual intercourse. Because of that, their foreplay lasted much longer than sex. He made her feel like she was savoured first before he actually entered her.  
  
One of her hands gripped his hair, using her hold to guide his head to her lips. He slid his tongue inside her lips instantly, already wanting their bodies to intertwine with each other in every way. She greedily greeted his tongue with her own, always one step ahead of what he was planning.  
  
Draco moved his hand to her covered breasts, cupping them and giving them the attention they deserved.  
  
“Take this off,” he whispered against her lips, referring to the cloth that covered his version of heaven.  
  
She pecked his lips, whispering a spell. The flesh-coloured piece of clothing disappeared, and he was happily greeted by her small but inviting breasts. Even though Hermione gruffly demanded his lips back on hers, he refused, choosing instead to put all of his attention south.  
  
He tweaked one nipple with his fingers and kissed the other, licking his way around her areola. With his other hand, he pushed her body, forcing her to lean on the table behind her.  
  
Draco loved her tail; it was golden, shimmery, and did wonders to her skin. But now, her legs wrapped around his waist were all he needed. He longed for the feeling of her heat brushing against his erection.  
  
“Take the tail off,” Draco growled lowly, watching as her nipple hardened under his breath. He gave the nipple another kiss, pushing her body in a gesture to lie on the table behind her.  
  
Hermione wiggled her way into a comfortable position. She was in the middle of muttering another incantation when Draco heard something break.  
  
Both of them visibly stiffened as the sharp sound of glass breaking pierced their ears. Hermione rose up, relying on her elbows for support.  
  
She stared at him, those pretty brown eyes widened in shock. Draco looked back at her with, he was sure, the same horrified expression.  
  
“What was that?” Hermione questioned, her voice husky, some mix of lust and shock.

Draco blinked the apprehension away. It was probably just a potion ingredient falling off the edge of the table Hermione was now resting on. His Professors would most probably kill him for it, but he didn’t want Hermione getting worked up for something so small.  
  
He pecked an innocent kiss on her lips to comfort her. “It’s probably just an ingredient. Nothing to worry about.”  
  
She frowned at him sceptically. “Are you sure?”  
  
Draco didn’t want to go and check, ruining the mood.  
  
“Yes, don’t worry about it.” Draco smiled, placing his hands on her thighs—or what would’ve been her thighs if she had her legs on display, not hidden under the sparkly gold fabric. He kissed her again, on the forehead this time, intending to get rid of her frown.  
  
“Okay,” Hermione gave in, lying back on the table. “I trust you.”  
  
His smile turned into a smirk and before she could see it, he drowned himself in her breasts again.  
  
An awful smell wafted its way through his nose as he was sucking his way down her stomach. He let out a cough; he could almost _taste_ the scent, thick and cloying on his tongue.  
  
Had Hermione eaten something bad tonight?  
  
A shot of pain hit his stomach as Hermione pushed him away harshly. He coughed again, the smell getting unbearably worse.  
  
“Jesus, Draco,” Hermione exclaimed from below him. She wore the ugliest scowl on her face, pinching her nose in distaste, “you could have at least had gotten out the room before you broke wind like—”  
  
“I didn’t do it!” he defended, his head starting to ache from the terrible smell. The fragrance of rusted iron and something dead was making it hard for him to breathe. “I thought you did it!”  
  
Hermione reddened, her eyes narrowing in anger. “You think my stomach’s bloody rotten?”  
  
“No, it’s just—” He was interrupted by a turbulent fit of coughs bursting through his mouth, a tickle in his windpipe the only warning.

He inhaled deeply with his mouth and regretted it instantly. It tasted like a recently-killed rat was on his tongue, the smell thick and swirling down his throat, like inhaling smoke, but it was tangy, metal-ly. With another series of coughs, his vision heated up, going from normal to tinted orange. Draco was beginning to have a clue on what they had been breathing in.  
  
_Orange smoke, scent of rotten flesh, rusted iron, and faeces, and the shattered vial earlier. Fuck._  
  
“Hermione, don’t—” he tried to rush out, but he was interrupted when Hermione leaned over, vomiting on his boots. He could not even show his disgust, orange smoke having completely blinded his eyesight. He tried to fight off the urge to close his eyes, but the potion they had broken fought back and won against him. He fell down to the ground in an embarrassing thud.  
  
And then, he was lost.

**. . .**

_Fucking Fischer._  
  
He crossed his arms in front of his chest, the white walls around him turning into the familiar walls of a private room in St Mungo’s.

He would definitely strangle his course-mate for this. While it was certainly their fault for breaking the vial, the dumb German wanker that made the Potion that had gotten him into this mess, Klaus Fischer, should not have put his first major term project on the first bloody floor of the Alchemy Tower!    
  
It wasn’t before long he saw the main scene of his ‘vision’. There was an obviously exhausted woman lying on the hospital bed. Her eyes half-closed, her face pale, and her brown hair stuck to her cheeks. At first, he had thought the woman was Hermione, but her skin was lighter than that of his girlfriend, and the facial features differed.  
  
Even though she was most likely at her very worst at this moment, the woman was the most breathtakingly beautiful person he had ever seen.  
  
And he knew that this was not the first time he had ever seen her, no. He was sure that he had seen her before. In Hogwarts, maybe? Or one of his parents’ galas, back when he still attended?

The woman looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite remember who she was or where he had seen her. All he knew was that he almost forgot his existence when he saw her.  
  
Draco wondered what she was doing here, in his ‘vision’, but then he saw himself, sitting right next to her bed, holding her hand and cradling a baby swathed in blankets in his other arm.  
  
He gasped when his older self stared directly at him before looking back at the woman. He looked different; he had almost thought it was his father. A beard adorned his jawline and chin—he wasn’t yet sure if he liked it, and he looked older.  
  
He stalked closer to them.  
  
“You did well, love,” he heard his older-self gush to the woman. “He’s beautiful.”  
  
He could identify the woman now that he was close enough to see her features clearly. It was Daphne Greengrass’s little sister, Astoria! Yes, Draco remembered her quite well. Astoria had confessed to fancying him when he had been in Year 6, and he recalled rejecting her for the sole reason that his parents would have been more than glad if he had dated someone like Astoria.  
  
Draco suddenly felt sick. He was not stupid. He knew exactly what Astoria’s role in his future was, and thinking about it made him uncomfortable.  
   
She must have given birth to their child.  
  
He stepped a tad closer to his older-self to chance a peek of the baby, and what he saw changed his life.  
  
A boy. A red-faced boy with fat cheeks and swollen grey eyes. The boy had his hair, too, blond and pale, but only wispy flyaways were on the top of his head like a bad comb-over. He was definitely a Malfoy through and through.

He was so small to the point that he was almost irrelevant to the world, but as Draco stared at him now, he knew the boy was the most important thing in his life. He was but a little bundle, and yet Draco’s heart melted by the mere sight of him. He wished he could take him into his own arms at this moment, and give him all the love his own parents had refused to show him.  
  
He was in love.  
  
“What did you name him?” Astoria asked, her voice throaty from exhaustion. Her body must have hurt like hell, but she smiled at their little creation.  
  
“Scorpius,” his older-self responded. “I hope you don’t mind, it was one of the ones on our list, so I just picked.”  
  
Astoria shook her head and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “He’s perfect.”  
  
She was wrong; Scorpius was beyond perfect.

Another surge of joy burst through his heart when he saw himself kiss Astoria lovingly. Draco searched for their hands, their fingers, to see if there was any ring on them, to see if they had been bound by God and magic.  
  
They were. They wore the same rings his mum and dad had worn at their wedding. Narcissa and Lucius must have been over the moon when they had found out he was dating Astoria instead of Hermione.  
  
_Hermione._ What had happened between him and Hermione? What was going to happen between them? He did not understand this ‘vision.’ Why was Astoria here instead of his true love, the one he conquered all with? Why was this the happiest moment in his future?  
  
Never mind, he understood why this was his happiest moment. What he felt when he saw Scorpius was unadulterated joy—something he had never felt before then. But why wasn’t Scorpius his and Hermione’s?  
  
He would be lying if he said he did not understand, though. His future-self was clearly happy with Astoria, more than he ever was with Hermione. Their love was so clear and so present that he was sure people in the next room could feel it.  
  
“Thank you,” his older-self said to his wife. “He’s the best. You’re the best. I love you.”  
  
She reached over, a gracious smile on her face, a hand cupping their son’s perfect cheek. Draco bent over, cuddling their son in between them, looking like the happy family he never had.  
  
This was everything he wished and hoped for, right in the hands of his future self. This was happiness.  
  
As he came close to crying along with his family, Draco’s vision turned an ugly shade of orange once again. He was taken away from his happiness.

**. . .**

Draco shut his eyes as soon as he saw the dim lighting of the Potions classroom. His eyes felt like they were burning, dried up from being wide open for that long. His heart was pounding so hard that he was sure one of his ribs was bent in half. Why were people taking this Potion?  
  
He heard a feminine groan, Hermione’s groan, and he stood up so fast that his soul left his body for a quick moment before returning. His _petite amie_ was sitting on the table he had placed her, her tail on the stool, and her head buried in her knees.  
  
“What was that?” The sound of her voice was so muffled that he almost took the phrase as something dirty.  
  
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Ha-Happy Ending Potion.”  
  
Hermione raised her head to look up at him. Her eyes were filled with tears and she looked so troubled that he immediately felt an urge to comfort her.  
  
“What?”  
  
“The Happy Ending Potion,” he repeated, glancing away from her miserable expression. “I’m sure there’s a textbook here for you to—”  
  
“I don’t want a textbook, Draco. Just tell me what you know about it right now.”  
  
Draco sighed but nodded all the same. He could never refuse his siren anything. “Invented by Mendelivaré Endings, the Potion is often used in hospitals, I think, to help those who have attempted suicide. It can make the taker see a glimpse of their happiest moment in the foreseeable future.”  
  
Hermione audibly gulped, her tears dripping down her brown eyes.  “And from what I remember, it’s inevitable as well, right? It’s not probable or hypothetical?”  
  
“Inevitable,” he sadly confirmed, fiddling his fingers to distract himself from Hermione’s distressed face.  
  
A thick and uncomfortable blanket of silence fell over them. He did not know what to say to the woman who was not his happiness in the future. Oh Merlin, what if she had seen herself with him? What if her happiness was still him, but he had long since moved on from her?  
  
This time, Draco couldn’t help but take his topless siren into his arms, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Admittedly, he would have gotten up and left if she were any other person.

He wasn’t particularly fond of making other people feel better. It simply did not suit his image. Despite his rebellion against his parents, he was still a Malfoy through and through. His name and his image were all he had left. It would sincerely kill him to lose both. But he always made an exception for Hermione, he would give up his reputation if it meant seeing her happy. He couldn’t suffer through watching her be tortured by emotions, and he knew she felt the same way towards him.  
  
Draco nipped on her earlobe, rubbing her bare back as she cried softly. “What did you see?”  
  
“A wedding.” Hermione sniffed. “I was getting married to Ron.”  
  
With those few words of hers, his whole world halted at once. Literally, everything stopped—his breathing, his hand on her back, Hermione’s sobs, and even the background noise of the on-going party in the Main Hall. His vision zeroed in on a textbook far from where they were sitting, but that was not what he saw at all.  
  
No, all he could see was Hermione in a place filled with flowers and pretty things, wearing a simple white gown and Ronald fucking Weasley smiling lovingly at her from down the aisle.  
  
He forced his eyes shut and now, he could imagine Hermione sniggering as Weasley whispered a joke into her ear. Her saying all the things she had promised she would say to him.  
  
Draco need not ask if she had been happy while she was under the Potion; he could already see it in the way she cried now, in the way her eyes seemed to reflect regret. One thing was certain; he and Hermione were not going to be happy with each other in the future.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he heard Hermione breathe into his shoulder when real life finally caught up with him. As she apologized, Draco felt something evil and violent tugging at his heart.

He wanted to push her away as soon as he felt this darkness creeping up his soul. He wanted to tell her to “piss off” and smack her across the face to try to make her feel the hurt he had felt as he imagined her and Weasley exchanging wedding rings and vows. But he didn’t—he couldn’t, actually. What had happened in her vision was not real, at least not yet, and he couldn’t fault her for something she hadn’t done.  
  
“I saw my child,” Draco confessed, as though she was a priest and he the sinner, “with another woman.”  
  
He heard Hermione’s breath hitch in her throat before she spoke, “Who?”  
  
He proceeded to run his hand up and down her back, sort of preparing her for what he was about to say.  
  
“Astoria Greengrass.”  
  
“Are you close with her now?”  
  
He couldn’t help but smirk at her possessive tone and the way she clung even tighter to him. Hermione was one territorial woman. She had never admitted to it, but he had figured it out in the subtle scowls she would throw at him whenever he was with somebody she didn’t like. “No.”  
  
He heard her relieved sigh, felt her grip around him loosen, and saw a chance. He remembered Klaus Fischer, the person who brewed the Happy Ending Potion they had broken and the person who was failing every lecture they were in. Fischer had never brewed a potion correctly, so how could his Happy Ending Potion be any different?  
  
“It won’t come true,” Draco swore.  
  
Hermione leaned back, out of his arms, looking him in the eye. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I know who brewed the Potion,” he told her. “Klaus Fischer.”  
  
Hermione squinted, her head tilting to the side. “And?”  
  
“And he’s bloody incompetent, Hermione!” he exclaimed, his arms flailing around overdramatically.  
  
“That’s rude, Draco.” She rolled her eyes.  
  
He scoffed, fixing up his tunic. “Well, it’s true. He doesn’t know the ingredients to Polyjuice Potion, for God’s sake. He couldn’t have possibly done this right.”  
  
“Please elaborate.” Hermione crossed her arms, pushing up her still uncovered chest. Draco let his gaze linger on her breasts for one quick second before looking away.  
  
“We were all given two projects at the very start of the term,” Draco began, his hands trying to find pockets that weren’t actually sewn into his trousers. “One was this sodding Halloween Ball and the other was to make an advanced-level potion with more than six ingredients. I, personally, chose to make an incredibly difficult Filipino potion, the Fertility Elixir of Lakapati—”  
  
“How is that relevant to our—”  
  
Draco glared at her for interrupting. “—and Fischer chose to make the Happy Ending Potion. It’s not a complicated potion to brew, but the ingredients are scattered around the world. The petals alone—”  
  
“I really need you to get to the point already—” Hermione interjected again.  
  
“What I’m trying to say is, Fischer is an absolute dosser and wouldn’t have travelled to Asia just for a few petals needed for one potion,” Draco growled out, exasperated with her.  
  
Hermione silently stared at him, unblinking, for a few seconds before she opened her mouth again.  
  
He rushed to explain before she could tell him how dumb he was. “Fischer’s an idiot, Granger. He always gets a Troll on exams. He couldn’t have brewed the Potion properly. There’s absolutely no way that I’m going to marry a pure-blood princess to appease my parents and I know you think of Weasley as kin. And in absolutely no circumstance I’m willing to leave you.”  
  
He kissed her on the lips for good measure, wiping the dried tear tracks on her cheeks.  
  
“You’re right,” Hermione gave in, smiling contently. “I don’t want to leave you, too.”  
  
Draco moved to embrace her one more time. “I love you.”  
  
Hermione chuckled, holding onto him tightly. “Let’s change destiny, Draco. Let’s go and tell fate to “sod off and die”. Let’s prove that Happy Ending Potion wrong. Let’s make a happy ending of our own. I want to be with you for a lifetime. I love you.”  
  
And he pressed his lips against hers once again. They would do just that. They would be stronger than fate and destiny. They were Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, after all, the most stubborn couple he knew. They would fight back. They would prevail. They would be each other’s happy endings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also giving my love to the FB group 'Dramione Fanfiction Writers' for challenging us this Halloween! Show your love as well by reading the other entries!


	2. MALDIT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The titles of the chapters came from the genres of troubadour music.

**PART TWO: MALDIT**

_Maldit— a song complaining about a lady's behaviour and character_  

. . .

Draco sighed, gathering another article of clothing from the grimy floor of their bedroom into his already-full arms. He loved his girlfriend, but she was utterly infuriating sometimes.  
  
As the only child of two wealthy Muggle doctors, his girlfriend had been taken care of and pampered by maids all her life. Whenever Hermione dragged him along to visit her parents, he was always told stories of how she had gotten what she wanted as a child. He would always hear that a lot of Hermione’s nannies had quit. Even during their Hogwarts years, he had been told that her parents would hire a nanny for her every time she came home. His girlfriend was completely and utterly spoilt by her by them.  
  
There was nothing wrong with that, of course—he, himself, had been a spoilt boy. When he was younger, he’d throw a tantrum every time his parents had refused to buy him whatever he liked. In fact, he had once thrashed the whole West Wing of the Malfoy Manor with accidental magic because his father had tried to lock him in one of the rooms as punishment. He understood, more than anyone, what it felt like to be a brat. Though, he also soon realized that being a brat would get him nowhere in life. At 25 years of age, Hermione still hadn’t realized that, it seemed.

He had made the decision of rebelling against his parents during his fifth-year in Hogwarts. Lucius and Narcissa told him they were in the process of finalizing a marriage contract between him and a wealthy French pure-blood.

He had seen red, demolished his bedroom, and left the Manor in a fit of rage. He had been 15-years-old at the time; he had known that he wasn’t at all ready for a wedding. To be fair, Draco did not think he would ever be ready for marriage, not really. But that was beside the point. He had gone to his godfather’s house the night he had run away.

Of course, Severus’s intention had been to send him back to his old mansion. But Draco had broken down in front of him, so his godfather let him live in Spinner’s End.

Though, he was certain that Snape had made an agreement with his parents regarding money and other things Draco would need.  
  
Of course, his life in Spinner’s End hadn’t been similar to how he had lived in Malfoy Manor. In his ancestral home, the house-elves had never let him touch a thing. But with Snape, he had been expected to cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner, clean the whole house every three days, and brew one medicinal potion a week. So there was that; he owed all his life skills to Severus Snape. Those basic life skills had definitely helped him survive his years in Prosperfae. Living in a dormitory filled with drunk and sex-minded boys had never gotten him any food.  
  
Hermione had never rebelled against her parents. She had never learned how to cook meals, make the bed, or wash clothes—or perhaps, she did know how to do chores and simply chose not to do any of them.  
  
Draco released a heavy sigh once again, putting all Hermione’s dirty clothes into a hamper and making a mental note to wash them later. When they had first moved in this neat and affordable flat, he had all sorts of bright plans for their future.  
  
They were supposed to be equal in every aspect. They were both supposed to work hard for their future. They were supposed to help each other out in everything so why was he the one doing everything in the bloody flat? Why was he the only one waking up at 6 in the morning to cook breakfast, leaving to open the shop at 7, and going home not to rest but to do more fucking chores at 8 p.m.? Why was he the only one exhausted all the time?  
  
He felt hunger pangs in his stomach, growling like a wild animal that hadn’t been fed for days. Once he removed his robes, he made his way to the little kitchenette they had.  
  
He ran frustrated fingers through his blond hair—there was no food in the cupboards or fridge. It was like he was living with a child and not a fully-grown adult who was capable of buying shit on her own.  
  
He let out an aggravated breath, muttering foreign curse words. He knew he was overreacting a tad bit much, making a big deal out of tiny things that wouldn’t normally irk him. He was just having a terrible week, that was all, and taking out his frustrations on something easy.  
  
He went back to the bedroom, fully intending to wash Hermione’s clothes. He won’t leave yet, wanting to wait for Hermione to come home so they could have tea at a restaurant together.

. . .

Draco’s grey eyes fluttered open at the sound of the front door being opened. A smile automatically grew on his face as he heard the clicking sounds of Hermione’s work heels. He had not planned on falling asleep, but he was glad that he had woken up before Hermione could join him in the bed.  
  
He got off the bed, wanting to greet Hermione and give her the best kiss of her life. When he saw her in their kitchenette drinking a glass of water, Draco’s mood brightened up.  
  
She had one hand resting on her hip, looking peaceful and happy. The wild curls trying to escape confinement from her ponytail were the only signs of distress on her. She looked as fresh and as beautiful as she had in the morning. Draco was irrevocably in love with her.  
  
Smiling, he spoke, “Hey.”  
  
She jumped a bit when she heard his voice but soon grinned back at him after she had put the glass of water down on the counter. “Hey.”  
  
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he told her, feeling as though he was in some sort of daze as he approached her. “You came home later than usual. Where have you been?”  
  
Hermione snorted. “I told you this morning that I’m not going to be able to go home early.”  
  
Had she? Strangely enough, Draco did not remember any sort of conversation they had earlier. They never really talked to each other in the morning, maybe a short “good morning” or a quick “goodbye” here and there, but that was it.  
  
Or, maybe he was an awful listener, never hearing anything important that Hermione cared enough to share with him.  
  
“I had dinner with my boss,” she continued, rolling her eyes for an unknown reason.  
  
Draco’s shoulders slumped at her words, his stomach making its presence in a throaty grumble. He should have eaten on his way home or something. He hadn’t had anything for lunch either, and he was so fucking hungry that it was beginning to numb the pounding of his head.  
  
Hermione arched an eyebrow at him. “Have you eaten?”  
  
He stared back at her inquisitive and intense gaze. If he told her the truth, she’d chastise him and tell him how badly he was taking care of himself—all the usual spiel she’d recited all through her years at Hogwarts to the Golden Boys.  
  
Draco was tired of being chided, so he did the best thing he could; he lied, “Yes.”  
  
Hermione was satisfied with his response, he knew, for she gave him a short kiss on the mouth. That was all they had now—sweet pecks and shy hugs. He did not feel as though the woman standing before him was his long-time girlfriend. Their intimacy felt like something he had experienced back in his second-year at Hogwarts. It was sweet, adorable even, but nothing like the burning passion they had before.  
  
He pushed all his thoughts away. He knew that nothing was going to be the same for a relationship that had lasted for seven years now. Change was an inevitable thing, after all. She changed, he changed, and their relationship changed. They were not the love-hate couple they had been in Hogwarts and that was alright, he thought. He was still not quite used to it, though, but he was going to accept whatever change that would come to their relationship. He was going to accept her, always, no matter how many clothes she left on the floor, no matter how many chores he had to do because, at the end of the day, Hermione Granger was all he had.

. . . . .

His business was falling apart. No one was buying anything from him, and he couldn’t do anything to change that. He had no money, refusing to ask aid from his parents, and his debt was increasing by the day. He couldn’t loan from a bank again or take a hundred Galleons from Hermione’s fund again—he was running out of options.  
  
Draco snorted at the idiocy of it all. A Malfoy with financial problems—his ancestors must be rolling in their graves.  
  
He had first opened his Potions shop two years ago, having borrowed money from Gringotts, and, like an idiot, he had called it ‘Malfoy’s’. His shop attracted the attention of the pure-blooded aristocrats and no one else. During his first week of opening, his mother and father had shown up, sneering at everything he sold. 

They had asked him what he had been doing with his life. He should have been taking over the family business, they had mentioned to him, and that he had been acting like ‘commoner.’

Well, that doesn't really mean anything to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. To them, anyone who couldn't afford albino peacocks was a commoner. But of course, as their only son and a normal human being, their words had hurt him, causing him to lash out at them and say worse words.  
  
Soon after that encounter, a new and better Potions shop had been opened across the street from his. His parents had really branched out to Potions to spite him, to bury him in debt, and to make him come back to them.

God, his parents were arseholes.  
  
And now, it was costing more to keep his shop opened than closed. He still had bills to pay, and at this rate, he couldn't make this month’s required payments.  
  
Hermione was going to kill him. She had never liked failure, after all. She found no acceptable excuse for failing at something. A person who had been successful her entire life could never fully comprehend what it felt like to fail. For a short moment, Draco let himself envy her. He would often wonder what it felt like to be Hermione Granger. What would his life be like if he had supportive and loving parents? Would his said parents finally smile at him and be proud of him if he was working in the Ministry? Would people admire him more if he had a career he was in love with and more money than needed?  
  
That was the main problem with his shop; he was completely in love with it. He partly blamed his godfather for his love of Potions. Severus Snape had demanded that he brew a different potion from a different book every week, after all. Draco hadn’t known what it was for when he was younger, but now he realized that it was to give him something he cared about during an angst-filled time. Well, maybe that was not Snape’s intention, but that was how it meant to him. Brewing potions was the only thing he was good at now. How was one supposed to let go of something they were good at? How was he supposed to let go of his only dream?  
  
Before he had rebelled against his parents, he had been in the process of learning how to keep a successful career and maintain good businesses. His father had always lectured him on business-related shite whenever Draco went home back then. He almost wished he hadn’t run away from them so soon as he could see now that he could have learnt the key to being an affluent businessman.  
  
What was he going to do?

. . .

He went home later than usual, just after 10 o’clock. He spent his late hours drinking cheap alcohol that he could barely afford and eating from the corner-shop.  
  
When he stumbled inside the house, the first thing that greeted him was a teary-eyed Hermione. His heartstrings pulled, puppeteered by an emotion he only felt whenever he would see her crying.  
  
He approached her, put his face close to hers, and asked, “What’s wrong?”  
  
She wiped off her tears, stood up straight, moved away from him, and Draco felt relieved, out of all things. Was it wrong to see your girlfriend for seven years and be relieved that she did not vent out to you? Was it wrong for a boyfriend to be glad when he could clearly see that his girlfriend was hiding something from him?  
  
It sounded wrong, but Draco felt relieved—not because he liked seeing her emotions jumbled up but because he did not want more problems included in his already stress-filled life.  
  
“Gringotts sent a letter for you. It’s about your debts.”  
  
Two years ago, she would’ve called it ‘their’ debt. She never would have left him alone with a big burden such as this. She would have called it her own, too.  
  
Two years ago, he would have comforted her, persisted her to tell him the reason why she had been crying.  
  
Draco stiffened, also putting as much distance as possible between them in the small couch they were sitting on. He crossed his legs and glanced at every direction but hers. He waited for her to say something more because she always said something more. Hermione Granger wouldn’t let a declarative sentence be a declarative sentence on its own—no, she always managed to make a lecture or find a lesson out of everything she told him.  
  
But she disappointed him, staying silent save for a short puff of breath she let out.  
  
“I’ll take care of it,” he lied without so much a blink. It was so easy to lie to her now. Back then, he wouldn’t have lied to her about what he had for lunch, but now, what he usually told her contained more lies than truths.  
  
She sniffed, licking her lips. “I have to pay rent tomorrow.”  
  
“Hermione, I don’t have—“ he began explaining but she cut him off.  
  
“I know you don’t have enough money to pay half, Draco.” Hermione glared at him. “You haven’t had enough money ever since you wasted everything you got on your bloody shop.”  
  
“The shop is everything to me, Hermione. You wouldn’t understand because—“  
  
“I wouldn’t understand because I have a stable job with a good salary and I can pay my own fucking bills,” she interjected again, getting louder by the second. “I wouldn’t understand because I actually make money—is that what you’re trying to say? That I wouldn’t understand because you’re acting like a spoilt bloody child  pawing money off of me like I’m your mum, like you’re my responsibility?”  
  
All he had drunk earlier must have finally caught up with him, his brimming anger reached the boiling point, overpowering his senses, and replacing his love and care for this girl with a flash of white-hot anger.  
  
“I’m the one who’s acting like a damn child?” he snarled, his hands forming two fists. “Who between us is a 25-year-old woman who still doesn’t know how to cook eggs? Who refuses to wash the fucking dishes once in a while? Who actually makes sure this flat doesn’t burn to the ground and not just sleep for 12 fucking hours on her day off work? Tell me, who, Hermione, because it’s for sure not me!”  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes condescendingly. “I’m so sorry that you have to do a couple of chores while I work hard for the money. So what if we’re not a traditional couple? Who gives a sh—“  
  
“I give a shit when my girlfriend is fucking useless every time she comes home, can’t even do the fucking laundry, for fuck’s sake—“  
  
“Useless?” she hissed. “I’m useless when you’re the one who says “I’m fucking broke” but smells like cheap-ass beer every time he comes home late? Fuck you!”  
  
“How can I not drink when every time I step one foot in this bloody flat, all I hear is your—“  
  
She stood up angrily, pointing her index finger at him, her eyes narrowed in fury. “Do not blame me for this! I wouldn’t be yapping my mouth if you would just pay the bills one time! If you would have gone on Auror-training instead of Prosperfae like I told you, we wouldn’t be having this problem, wouldn’t we?”  
  
“Potion-making is my life!” he yelled exasperatedly. “Do you really think I would’ve been better at fighting Dark wizards when all I knew how to do was mix ingredients in a cauldron?”  
  
“That’s just it, Draco, you’re a coward,” she snapped, her finger poking into his chest. “All you know is Potions and you’re afraid to try anything else. You fucking coward! You’re really going to stick to your pathetic shop until you declare bankruptcy? Find another job! Go to your parents if you aren’t still afraid of them—“  
  
Draco slapped her, and immediately recoiled from her once he realized what he had done. Hermione’s face forcibly turned to her right from the force of his hand, her cheek was pinking already.  
  
“Hermione, I’m—“  
  
“Fuck you!” she shot back at him, her hand smacking him across the face, slapping him like he had slapped her. Draco accepted it. He deserved it.  
  
She clawed at his face with her sharp nails, his cheeks practically being flayed. He took her into his arms and she struggled against his hold, slamming her fists on his chest in a repetitive manner. She kept saying how much she hated him and how she wished she could leave him. Draco hoped she hadn’t meant anything.  
  
Soon enough, tears were running down her cheeks once again, and he could see that she was having trouble breathing. She let out a loud sob, but still continued her fight against him until she gave him another hard slap and kissed him on the lips, bruising and harsh.  
  
Heat flared in Draco’s veins as her lips moved against his, and he realized that this was the first time they had kissed with so much passion in over two years. It had been so long ago that he had forgotten what it felt like to be one with Hermione, to crave her presence every moment she wasn’t with him.  
  
He hadn’t realized that he had missed her all along, and maybe that was why their relationship was crumbling. Maybe that was why he couldn’t bear to look at her sometimes. Maybe that was why she could now tell him everything she hated about him. Maybe their entire relationship was based on lust and desire and the two years that had passed without those two things made their relationship stale and almost non-existent. Maybe they didn't love each other at all.  
  
Hermione’s fingers gripped his cheeks and he held her by the waist in a possessive manner. Fucking while angry was unhealthy, but it was what they needed.  
  
He ran his tongue over her lips and tasted salty tears. She pushed him down on the couch, straddling his thighs and never breaking contact with his lips.  
  
She bit on his tongue, tugging at the muscle painfully, making him groan. He pinched her hip in response. She let go of his tongue, choosing instead to nibble on his lower lip. He let her take the lead. He would submit to whatever she would do to him right now.  
  
She pulled away from him, and even though her face was all red and blotchy, she was still so beautiful. She rubbed her eyes with her palms, tears still dripping down her face.  
  
“I thought you left me,” she shakily told him, her tone vulnerable. Draco’s heart softened at the sight of her. “I had a dream last night—it was the same thing I saw when we were under the Happy Ending Potion. And, and—“ she cut herself off when she broke into a loud sob.  
  
He took her face into his hands and proceeded to kiss her, not daring to say another word. Two years ago, he would’ve told her that everything was going to be alright, but he was not the same man as he was back then and she was not the same woman, and he was uncertain if everything was going to be okay in the end.  
  
Her hands moved to his crotch, untying his trousers and freeing his still-limp cock.  
  
Hermione took hold of his member, stroking it with her hand until he hardened for her, Draco wincing from time-to-time when her grip was too tight.  
  
She whispered something against his lips, and when Draco felt the fabric of her robes disappear, he realized that it had been a spell she had muttered. He could now feel her cunt brushing against his thigh, that got his member to attention faster than her hand could.  
  
He cupped her warm centre, flicking his thumb over her clit. She removed her lips from his and graced his ear with a lovely moan. He inserted his middle finger into her, but before he could start pleasuring her, Hermione hastily removed his hand and impaled herself on his cock instead.  
  
Why was she in a rush? Hermione had always loved foreplay more than anything, so why was she letting him enter her without any sort of preparation?  
  
He supposed it did not matter now; he was already inside of her and it felt like heaven. Inside her cunt was where he belonged. She was his home, he realized as he watched her bounce up and down his cock in fascination. What a magnificent woman.  
  
He wished her breasts were free so he could suck on her nipples and see them bounce prettily, but he could not so he grabbed her round arse instead, helping her jump on his dick.  
  
His member slid easily in and out of her. Her cunt was something familiar, something he was used to feeling, but something he still terribly missed. He missed touching her like this. He missed her riding him like this. He missed the way her pussy lips would gush in response to his touch or even words.  
  
He pulled her hips down harder on his cock, feeling her walls flutter around him torturously and teasingly. He shut his eyes closed, imagining what their mingled sexes looked like now, wondering if her juices were coating his dick and if she could feel his member pulsing inside of her.  
  
Hermione bit his clothed shoulder, groaning when he thrust particularly hard. Her cunt clenched around his cock and she came with a soft, relieved sigh. She went still on top of him, and Draco’s entire world halted for a moment, all the burning anger inside released when his seed spilt inside her.  
  
He wondered if their relationship was going to change for the better now that they had finally learnt to be intimate again. He wondered if, when she’d come, she had realized that her love for him was still there, hidden beneath a ton of problems like he had.  
  
“I love you,” he whispered when he finally caught up with his breathing.  
  
Hermione nodded but said nothing.

. . .

When Draco woke up in the middle of the night, sore and aching, he found Hermione still lying on top of him. They were still on the couch. That explained why his neck ached like hell and why his legs were dead to the world.  
  
It was alright, though. Sleeping on a cheap couch with his arms around Hermione contented him more than sex with her ever did. For the first time since their graduation, their relationship felt refreshing and renewed. Draco felt hopeful for once in two years. Maybe those two years had been a short period of drift, and now, that phase of their relationship was now over. All he knew was that he couldn’t wait to actually feel and be in love with her again.  
  
When they had been in Hogwarts, his heart had quickened every time he would catch a glimpse of her bushy-haired, know-it-all self. He had written a total of seventeen poems for her, and she would cry while reading each one. And then, she would proceed to thank him with a blowjob in the many hidden alcoves of their former school. If he were being honest, Draco would admit now that his erstwhile sexed-up teenager self had definitely been doing it in exchange for her fellatio.  
  
He had first asked her out as an awful joke on the first day of their final years in Hogwarts, and until now, he was certain that she had only agreed to go on a date with him because she’d wanted to turn the tables on him. He had thrown her a surprise party on her birthday and asked her if she’d wanted to be his girlfriend. She’d accepted, kiddingly, of course, unaware that they were going to fall in love with each other eventually.  
  
He would often arrange big gestures and give her flamboyant, expensive gifts, making sure many pure-blooded Slytherins that were close to his parents would see it. He had made sure that everything he had spent on her reached his parents’ ears. He’d wanted to shove the fact that he was dating a Muggle-born much better than he was in their pale and pointy faces. It had made him smile every time a Howler was sent to him by his parents. It wasn’t until his Year 3 in Prosperfae he had realized that he had done was petty and childish.  
  
He had realized that he was irrevocably in love with Hermione when one day, he’d been looking for her around the Gryffindor area and she’d met his searching gaze with her inquisitive eyes. She had been in the middle of studying for whatever subject that very moment and had been quite annoyed when she’d felt him leering at her. Until now, he could still clearly the intensity of her brown eyes and the way her pupils glistened in the midst of the fire of candlelight. That was when he knew he was in some deep shit.  
  
Before Draco went to Prosperfae, he had no idea of what to do with his life. He hadn’t thought about what his life after Hogwarts would be. Hermione had urged him to go Auror-training with her friends, Potter and Weasley. He would be good at capturing Dark wizards, she’d said. He could be great friends with Ron and Harry, she’d told him. Fuck that, he would reply to her. Fuck dealing with Dark Magic on a daily basis for the entirety of his life. If he had wanted to fuck with Dark Arts, he never would have rebelled against his parents.  
  
But then, his godfather had shown him options for Potions-related careers, one of them being Alchemy. To be frank, Draco would have studied Muggle Medicine somewhere in the Muggle world if Alchemy wasn’t available in Prosperfae, the school Hermione had told him she planned to study at the time. So, yes, he had studied Alchemy because of Hermione.  
  
Their years in university had been blissful and almost dream-like. Those four years in Prosperfae felt like a prolonged honeymoon period. What had happened since then?  
  
It did not matter. What mattered now was the upcoming shift in their relationship. Hopefully, this one was for the better.  
  
He tightened his arms around her, placing a kiss on her forehead before he went back to sleep.

. . . . .

  
Draco had finally gathered his balls earlier this morning and put up his shop for sale. He chose to spend his whole day looking for a job that would suit his skills and education. He’d even gone to Muggle schools to apply for a teaching job (Muggle Chemistry was a part of the Alchemy curriculum in Prosperfae). They had all told him that he was going to be contacted by Sunday.  
  
It was 6 p.m., and he noticed that the lights were already opened in the flat, meaning Hermione was home. Strange, she usually went home at 7. Though, earlier this morning, before he left, Draco had noticed that Hermione was not at all feeling well. She’d been puking her guts out for a week now, and maybe, she had chosen to take the day off.  
  
“Hey, Hermione,” he called out to let her know he was also home. These past four weeks between them had been steady. They talked to each other more frequently now, made sure to greet each other with a passionate kiss in the morning, and had sex _way_ more often. With them, sex made everything better so they made sure to have some of it in their everyday lives.  
  
Honestly, the change wasn’t much, but it was better than the stale situation they were in before.  
  
He stalked into the kitchenette and chuckled when he saw a burnt, unrecognizable piece of meat on a plate on the table. For the past few days, Hermione had begun reading and following recipe books, nevertheless failing at cooking every single time she tried. Nonetheless, he loved that she was at least trying this time, and not leaving all the housework to him.  
  
He heard her light footsteps approach him from their shared bedroom. A smile appeared on his face instantly as he turned around to face her.  
  
“Hey, love,” he greeted her, but she did not give him a smile back, a frown marring her heart-shaped face.  
  
Draco felt something unsettling coiling in his gut but chose to ignore it.  
  
“What’s wrong, Hermione?” he asked her.  
  
A laden pause draped over them, thick and suspenseful. Draco studied her as silence continued to conquer them. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her lips turned downwards, nose flaring with each breath, and her eyes looked nervous and unsure. That was impossible, though. Hermione Granger was certain about everything. Right?  
  
Her lips opened in a quiet sigh, her frown deepening before she spoke, “I’m pregnant.”  
  
_What?_ He must’ve spoken his thought out loud as well as Hermione repeated what she had said.  
  
Draco stared at her in shock, his eyes comically widened and his jaw literally (not) reached the floor.  
  
She was pregnant. The girl who he had never even thought of as his wife was carrying his child at this very moment. There was life growing inside his girlfriend and that life existed in her womb right now because of him. In a few months, he would have something to wake up in the early hours of the morning for. In a few months, a baby’s cry would be normal. In a few months, he would be responsible for somebody else’s wellbeing.  
  
She was pregnant and he was the father, no doubt. Draco quizzically frowned at her stomach, wondering if the child could hear whatever he would say right now. What if the child came out with no sense of hearing? Or seeing? Or smelling? Or feeling? Did it matter?  
  
She was pregnant. Fate must be laughing cruelly from somewhere above them. He had no job and he had only then put his shop up for sale. Hermione’s salary on its own couldn’t support a living, breathing baby who had a lot of needs: food, clothes, toys, a crib, and parents who would devote their time to take care of him. They did not have enough money for a child.  
  
Yet she was still pregnant. Fuck. What the fuck? What had they done?  
  
“Say something,” Hermione pleaded, tears welling in her eyes.  
  
All he could say was, “Now what?”  
  
Draco embraced her when she broke into sobs. He hoped it was enough to comfort her because it wasn’t comforting him at all. He was genuinely disturbed and almost lost. In his youth he had often dreamed of having a big family, having felt alone as a child. But, he had never planned on starting it so soon, and so wrongly-timed.  
  
He was certain now; fate resented him, and whoever it was had been cruel enough to drag Hermione in his plans.  
  
He was crying before he had even felt it in his chest. His tears wet Hermione’s hair but he only pulled her closer to him. They stood, swaying slightly in the middle of the kitchen floor, both crying.  
  
Maybe this baby would be good for them, he thought. Maybe this baby would be enough to save them from themselves. Maybe there was still hope that fate actually loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to ArabellaGaleotti for making my story readable!


	3. DESDANSA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, ArabellaGaleotti, for staying with me throughout this journey!

**PART THREE: DESDANSA**  
_Desdansa_ — a dance designed for sad occasions 

**. . . . .**

He had been so wrong.  
  
Ever since Hermione had found out she was pregnant, she acted coldly towards him. She'd often leave the house without telling him, disappearing to God knows where. She'd refuse to eat whatever he'd cooked for her. And, to cap it off, she'd rather stare off into space than talking to him.  
  
It wasn’t only Hermione who was off. Admittedly, he had veered away from her every chance he got. It wasn’t because he suddenly realized that he loathed her. No, it was because he had no idea what to say to her pregnant self. They did not have anything to talk about—okay, that was a blatant lie. They had a lot of shit they needed to talk about, but both did not know how to broach the subject with each other.

Communication had always been something their relationship lacked. Whenever they had the smallest of arguments, even in Hogwarts or Prosperfae, they always chose to ignore each other instead of talk about it. Sometimes, they believed rumours about each other rather than just asking. Whenever they had actually confronted each other, it would more often than not end up in a screaming match with neither bothering to listen to the other’s side. Maybe that had something to do with their respective pride or something, but they'd always managed to get through their communication issues—using sex, of course.  
  
They hadn’t talked to each other for over a week until now.  
  
“We should get married,” Hermione practically demanded, her arms crossed in an intimidating manner.     
  
Draco goggled at her, absolutely dumbfounded. He’d always hated the idea of marriage, hated the idea of forever being tied to another person, and hated the idea of having little-to-no options when he and his wife got sick of each other. Besides, he did not have enough Galleons to buy anything of importance yet, let alone a bloody engagement ring.  
  
Then he thought about it, truly and deeply. The archaic laws of the wizarding world would make sure that his child would never receive his last name and that his child would be shunned his/her whole life. If he didn’t marry Hermione before his child was born, the baby would be a half-blood bastard. Draco shuddered involuntarily thinking about it.  
  
He cleared his throat, staring at Hermione hesitantly. “Yeah, sure, we’re goi—we’ll get married.”  
  
Hermione nodded, her gaze guarded and seemingly emotionless. “I—I think you should… you should talk to your par—“  
  
“No!” Draco spat, interrupting her.  
  
“Draco.” Hermione sighed. His eyes focused on the dark circles beneath her own eyes. He knew she hadn’t been sleeping well lately, her ‘morning’ sickness lasting until the late hours of the night. For Hermione’s case, ‘morning’ sickness occurred whenever the vomit felt like it was necessary to crawl up her throat. Draco felt bad for her. “Do you really think we have enough money to raise a child?”  
  
“No,” was his almost incoherent response.  
  
She moved to sit beside him and took his hands in her warm ones.  
  
“We need to stop being selfish now, you know,” she told him softly. “We have a baby to prioritize now. I know you don’t want to come back to your parents, but if Lucius lets you be the head of Malfoy Corporation then we’ll have enough to get whatever our baby needs or wants.”  
  
Draco mulled it over, weighed the pros and cons of going back to his family.

Pro: they wouldn’t ever feel the helpless desperation of finical problems and not being able to take care of their child.

Con: he detested his parents.

Pro: he could give his child the best kind of life.

Con: it would wound his pride to see their smug faces as he entered Malfoy Manor.

Pro: he would have a stable job.

Con: his parents would be constantly breathing down his neck.

Pro: he could make his child happy and make money at the same time.

Con: he didn’t want to give his parents any kind of satisfaction by going back to them.  
  
He sighed, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his shut eyes. It was not a difficult decision to make at all. He knew what would benefit them more. It was time for him to grow out of his stupid little rebellion.  
  
“I’ll do it.”

**. . . . .**

His aristocratic parents stood at the top of the majestic staircase of Malfoy Manor, looking like they ruled over the whole wizarding world.

His mother was gorgeous, as always, in pricey blue silk robes, blond hair tied into a bun at the back of her head and her lips painted an iconic 50's red.

His father still looked like a first-class arsehole (no surprise there!) with his long blond hair in a low ponytail and his left hand resting on the serpentine walking stick Draco had always loathed.  
  
Despite their arrogant stances, Draco found his heart warming up at the sight of them. After all those years of refusing to live with them, he still found himself missing them. After every shitty thing they had done to him, Draco still couldn’t get rid of the love he had buried deep in his heart for them.  
  
He forced a smile upon his face. “I’m home!” it was said with forced cheer, and it's obvious in the way his voice bounces back at him, echoing off the lofty marble room.

Their faces changed to shocked, yet still composed when they saw him.  
  
Draco grimaced when his mother let out an exaggerated gasp. It was too much, really.  
  
“Draco?” his father drawled, still quite unsure if he was standing there, in the middle of Malfoy Manor’s greeting hall, or not.  
  
His mum snapped out of her surprised daze and instantly rushed over to him, robes flowing out from her clenched fists.  
  
Soon enough, Draco found himself face-to-face with his teary-eyed mother. He softened at the up-close sight of her. It seemed like his mother hadn’t aged at all. She had no wrinkles, at least none that were obvious. Her eyes were still as bright as they had been during his first-year at Hogwarts.  
  
How old was his mother now? He could not even recall, but it sure looked like she was only a decade older than him.  
  
“Hi, mum.”  
  
His mother choked on a sob uncharacteristically and pulled him to her in a tight, motherly hug. Draco smiled and wrapped his arms around her back as well. It had been a long, long time since he last hugged his mother—at least not like this. He was used to brief, impersonal touches, a pat on the back, a one-armed hug.

He heard his father coming down the stairs after mother, his cane hitting the ancient tiles as he went. It alerted a built-in panic inside him. That was all he had heard when he was younger and had gotten into trouble. He'd lock himself in his bedroom, anticipating what his punishment would be to the beat of his father’s walking stick coming down the hallway.  
  
“What are you doing here, Draco?” his father drawled, sounding out the words.  
  
Draco opened his mouth to give out an answer, but his mother spoke first, “Have you eaten?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
His mother put her hands on his cheeks. “You look thinner than before.”  
  
His father snorted in amusement. “Would you rather that he be fat, Narcissa?”  
  
“You should eat more,” his mother told him, a firm look passing over her blue eyes.  
  
Draco nodded dumbly. Since when did his mother care about his eating habits? Even when he was unable to eat on his own, the house-elves had been the ones who had tended to him. The house-elves had taken time to know what his favourite foods were while his parents attended galas and social events.  
  
Why did she care now that he did not need it?  
  
“Let us go to the dining room,” Lucius suggested. “Then, you can tell us why you’re here.”  
  
Draco nodded once again, trailing behind his parents as they led him to the dining room.  
  
The place looked the same as it did nine years ago. A table made out of dark wood, heavy chairs, and a brilliant chandelier above, lighting up the whole room.

It gave him shudders.  
  
His father sat at the head of the table, his mother on the right side of him and he on the left side. Everything was still the same.  
  
Mum called for one of the house-elves and demanded that they bring food to the table instantly. As the elf nodded, disappearing, food appeared right in front of them.  
  
“Would you care to tell us what brought you here?” his father questioned, knife cutting into the meal.

Draco paused in chewing his chicken, staring at his father for a moment. He swallowed the meat down, clearing his throat.  
  
“Hermione’s pregnant,” he mumbled, not daring to look at either of his parents’ intense gazes.  
  
He heard his mother clink her wine down in front of her hastily.  
  
“You’re still with her?” his father inquired, acting shocked. Of course, he knew. He had to.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
His mother made a disappointing noise at the back of her throat. “And you’ve gotten her pregnant.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Are you married?” his mother asked.  
  
Draco suddenly lost all appetite, pushing his food-filled plate away. “No.”  
  
“Have we not taught you any decency, Draco?” his mother ranted. “First, you ran away with a Mudblood, then you got her—“  
  
Draco’s head snapped up to glare at her. “Don’t say that word.”  
  
His mother huffed elegantly. “That’s why you’re back here? Because you need us to pay for your half-breed—“  
  
“I will not tolerate you insulting my girlfriend or our relationship—“ Draco started to yell.  
  
“You don’t get to raise your voice here, boy, not in this house,” Lucius cut off, returning his glare.  
  
Draco lost control of his temper and slammed his fist into the table.  
  
“I’m here because I need money to raise a child, my child, your grandchild,” he snarled at his frigid parents. “I’m here because my shop doesn’t sell anymore because you opened a better shop right across the street! I’m here because I know that you need me, too. I came here to tell you that Hermione’s pregnant with my child and that we’re going to be married in a few months. And I’m ready to do whatever you want me to if you would just support my family.”  
  
“You’re ready to work for Malfoy Corporation?” his father asked sceptically.  
  
Draco sighed. “Yes.”  
  
“Then there is nothing more to be discussed here,” his father dismissed firmly. “I’m going to give you access to a vault in Gringotts that contains all your inheritance. On Monday, I expect you to come to your new office before 8 o’clock. You ought to give up any Potions-related careers and business you have and focus on making our company flourish.”  
  
Draco frowned. He felt like he was giving up his soul to the devil.  
  
“Okay,” he relented. What else could he do?  
  
“Are you really letting him bind his life to a Mud—uh, Muggle-born?” his mother spoke up, the question directed at his father.  
  
“He’s not a boy any longer, Narcissa,” his father reminded her. “He’s going to run away again if we try to control who he marries. Let him marry the Muggle.”  
  
His mother spoke no more. She had always been a submissive wife, silently agreeing with whatever his father would say.  
  
They would often do this to him when he was younger, talking about him right in front of him, and even then, he hated it. He was 24 years old and they still treated him like a damn child who didn’t know any better. Did it have something to do with the fact that they never truly saw him grow up? Never saw him change into a grown man?  
  
Whatever. It didn't matter anymore; he had already gotten what he came for and he was more than ready to leave the hellhole he’d once called home.

**. . . . .**

Hermione looked exceptionally wonderful today, sauntering down the aisle, her arm around her father’s. She was wearing an extravagant white wedding gown that once belonged to his mother, her hair straightened and let loose. Her delicate hands held a bouquet of daffodils. She looked more than beautiful; she was perfect.  
  
But somehow, despite the flowers surrounding them, despite the tying of hearts later, and despite the joyful tears their parents wept for them, dread remained low in his stomach, enlarging with every step Hermione took.  
  
A simple blusher veil covered her face, but her expression was as clear-as-day to him. She was not smiling. He was not smiling. Neither of them was happy about their situation.  
  
He did not want to get married—not this young, at least. He wanted to settle down when he was content with himself, when he had finally set a goal and accomplished it. It was a terrifying thought to be bound to someone when he did not even know who himself was, after all, so why was Hermione marrying him?  
  
What an asinine question. He knew the answer to that. They were getting married for the baby, not because it was the right time, not because they wanted to be with each other for the rest of their lives, and not even because of their everlasting love for each other. They were getting married so their baby could have a respectable reputation.  
  
When Hermione finally made his way in front of him, he put up a fake smile for her father. His future wife didn’t even bother, her scowl about as discreet as the sun.  
  
He couldn’t listen to the priest if he tried, a sharp, whistling sound taking over his ears. Thankfully, they’d practised this a hundred times, and Draco had the entire ceremony memorized.  
  
He tasted something bitter bubbling in the back of his throat, and he so badly wanted to spit it out. The back of his head began to pulse in a distracting manner.  
  
He felt sick, bile threatening to escape his throat as he recited the vows his mother had written for him. He wondered if Hermione felt the same, if her heart quickened in a sickening way, if her palms let out sweat like never before, if she could taste the vomit at the back of her throat every time she glanced at him during this farce of a wedding.  
  
Or had she shrugged off everything as though they were not signs of impending doom? Did she act nonchalant for the sake of the people who bore them? Was he the only one who couldn’t stand to look at the priest and lie through his teeth?  
  
The vows his mother had written were beautiful, truly artistic. The words were flowery and made to please the crowd but Draco didn’t mean a single thing. Except when he told her he loved her.

He did. Not in the same way as before, but he did.

The wedding that his mother had planned was also beautiful, like something out of a fairy tale. They didn’t deserve this kind of wedding. They should have just eloped like Hermione’s parents suggested. This wedding befitted those who were in love and wanted to be married. Hermione and he did not want to be married. They only agreed to this for the baby, for their baby.  
  
He kissed her on the lips when the priest told him to, when it was demanded of him. She waited a long moment, then gripped his shoulders and pushed him away, never kissing him back. He held her hand, raising it up to the air as the guests applaud them.  
  
When he chanced a glance at his wife, he swore he saw a tear fall down her cheek.

It wasn’t a joyous one.

**. . . . .**

He stared at the still Muggle photograph in his hands, unable to believe the magic non-wizards and witches could do. In his palms right then was a photo of his and Hermione’s baby. How was it possible to take a photo inside a person’s womb? It shouldn’t be possible at all, yet here was the photo in his pale hands.  
  
They were having a girl.  
  
Draco let out an apprehensive breath, incapable of taking his eyes off of his offspring. His babe had a weirdly-shaped head. It was also odd that he couldn’t clearly see who she looked like yet. He hoped she had his blond hair and grey eyes. He hoped she looked like him. She could have Hermione’s intelligence and talents, though.  
  
He would teach her how to play Quidditch so that she could prove all those arrogant boys in school wrong. He would make sure that she bested everyone in Potions and every other subject. He would want her to tell him everything—her problems, insecurities, and vulnerabilities—and he would help her through everything. He’d be the best father ever, and he would make sure that his own father knew it.  
  
His baby was also some sort of miracle. There hadn’t been a girl born into his family line for centuries and—  
  
A sudden thought made its way into his brain, making his chest tighten.  
  
He was going to have a boy with Astoria in the future.  
  
Wait. If he were going to have a child with Hermione now, why had he seen Astoria in the hospital and not her? Why hadn’t he seen the beautiful face of his daughter? Why was Scorpius his happiness instead of his first-born daughter?  
  
Draco felt an uncomfortable heavy weight settle in his stomach. Was something bad going to happen with Hermione while she was pregnant? No, he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her and their baby. He was going to make sure that his future with Astoria would never happen. Hermione and their baby were the happy endings he had chosen, and he was never going to let them go.

**. . . . .**

He came home later than what he’d told her, and he did not feel any shame until he caught sight of his heavily pregnant wife crying quietly in her bedroom.  
  
When he’d bought the house—their new home—Hermione had instantly persisted on having a room of her own, saying that she didn’t want to disturb his sleep every time she woke up in the middle of the night to puke her insides out and that the master bedroom didn’t have enough space for her ‘whale-self’.  
  
“Hermione,” Draco called out, cautiously approaching her.  
  
His wife startled, eyes widening as she took him in.  
  
“Are you alright?” asked Draco, immediately wincing as the words left his mouth. Of course, she wasn’t alright. She had never seemed alright ever since she found out she was pregnant.  
  
She shook her head, a sob escaping her lips. “I…I got fired from work today.”  
  
Draco’s eyebrows shot up. He hadn’t even realized she was still working, but then again, the laws of maternity leave in the British wizarding world were shitty—and the prejudice against pregnant women even worse. A lot of old-fashioned wizards still believed that pregnant women shouldn’t work because their condition would only put a limit on what they could do.  
  
“I don’t want to sit here all day and do nothing, Draco,” Hermione whined, her face red from crying.  
  
They could live off of what he was currently earning every day. Money wasn’t an issue, not anymore at least. Hermione could take five vacations and his inheritance wouldn’t be dented much. She honestly didn’t have to work anymore, but this was Hermione Granger he was thinking about; she loved working more than anything and she was especially passionate about law and justice. He knew she would mourn the loss of her job like her parents dying or something as terrible as that.  
  
“Well, it’s not about our wants anymore, Hermione,” he softly told her, resting a hand on her pregnancy bump. “We have to think of our baby now. You know that stress is not good for her.”  
  
A deepened frown formed on her blotched face. Draco used his other hand to wipe off the tears that remained on her cheeks. At least she stopped crying, but the silence that took the place of her whimpers was somehow even more uncomfortable.    
  
That silence stretched for what seemed to be an eternity. They hadn’t said anything for so long that Draco swore he felt their baby’s impatience through Hermione’s stomach.  
  
“Okay,” Hermione finally relented, removing his hand from her bump disappointingly.  
  
He placed a kiss on her forehead, and she turned her back on him.  
  
Draco sighed but didn’t say any more, choosing instead to leave her alone again.

**. . . . .**

Perdita Athebyne Malfoy was the name of the youngest member of his family. Perdita had been given by Hermione—she’d told him that Perdita was the daughter of a Hermione in some Muggle piece of writing. Athebyne had been suggested by him and, of course, it was a double star in the constellation he was named after.  
  
She was born a rather small pink baby with a tuft of blonde curls on top of her tiny head and brown eyes that seemed to know all his dark secrets.  
  
She was so pretty. Draco couldn’t take his eyes off of her and the smile off his face. Her eyes blinked up at him and something within him melted.  
  
“Hi,” he whispered to her.  
  
He tried to close his eyes, attempting to stop himself from shedding tears, but he couldn’t. He could not look away from the magic that was his daughter.  
  
She was so tiny. It was easy for someone to barge into the room, take her from his arms, and throw her against the wall.  
  
Draco’s teeth clenched at the mere thought of it. No one was going to hurt his daughter. If they tried, he would surely have to kill them. He wasn’t going to let any harm come close to her. He would die horribly first, he promised, before he saw her bruised and broken.  
  
“I’m your dad,” he told her, his lips twisting into a smile, another teardrop falling from his right eye. “I’ll protect you. I’ll love you forever, Perdita.”  
  
But why hadn’t he seen her when he was under the Happy Ending Potion?

**. . . . .**

Hermione had been acting strange lately.  
  
Even in the hospital, after she’d given birth to Perdita, she acted quiet and nonchalant. She’d held Perdita in her arms with a passive expression, hadn’t said anything at all. She’d only stared their daughter down until the baby cried and then, she’d handed Perdita back to him and proceeded to sleep like nothing happened.  
  
It seemed to him that she hadn’t felt what he had when she’d first seen their daughter.  
  
_Why?_ The Healers had told him why, though; they’d told him that Hermione had been under a lot of medication that day and that, of course, she had gotten back to sleep because of her 13-hour labour.  
  
But that did not explain her behaviour after they’d gotten out of the hospital.

When they had finally gone home, Hermione had locked herself up in her room, not coming out until he had to leave for work and she had to take care of Perdita by herself. The house-elves had told him that Hermione left the baby to their care every time he was gone for work.  
  
She hadn’t even talked to him since she’d given birth. Every time he would try to talk to her, she went up to her bedroom and locked the door.  
  
Draco didn’t know what to do.

**. . . . .**

He was awoken in the middle of the late night or early morning by his daughter’s ear-piercing war-cry.  
  
Draco did what he always did; he got up from his bed, walked out of the bedroom and towards his baby’s nursery.  
  
There was something new, though. Usually, his daughter would be at her crib, fidgeting and weeping alone, but as he neared Perdita’s room, he heard shouting.  
  
He quickened his pace, instantly preparing himself for what he was going to see.  
  
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” It was Hermione, holding Perdita an arm’s length away from her face, also screaming at the top of her lungs, with tears streaming down her face that matched Perdita's.  
  
Draco felt himself freeze in shock and fury. Of all things he’d expected when he heard shouts from his daughter’s bedroom, Hermione telling Perdita to “shut the fuck up” hadn’t been one of them.  
  
“Shut up!” Hermione repeated, her face blanched in frustration. “I hate you so much. Shut up! I swear, if you don’t shut your mouth right now, I’ll throw you out the fucking window! Shut up! Shut up!” she repeated, nearly sobbing with it all.  
  
Draco wanted to tell it was her who needed to shut the fuck up but couldn’t. His legs seemed like they were being held down into the floor. His fingers were stuck in a stone-cold fist. His mouth was seemingly locked, his lips set into a thin line and unable to move. He was utterly shocked and almost-paralyzed. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing.  
  
With her incessant yelling, his daughter’s cries worsened. Hermione stomped closer to the open window of the room but did not hold her arms out; instead, she fell into her knees and cried even harder than she already was.  
  
Draco’s breath got stuck in his throat. He needed to move. Why couldn’t he move?  
  
Hermione lifted up the shirt she was wearing, baring her breast and guiding the whimpering baby to feed on her chest.  
  
Despite all this, she continued to cry as though her tears would never run out.  
  
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she repeated her apology through a thick voice, her throat clogged up with emotion.  
  
Draco snapped out of his frozen state when Hermione managed to make Perdita fall asleep. He watched, his heart aching from all the rage he was feeling, as she took the Perdita’s mouth out her nipple and gave the babe a kiss on the cheek.  
  
She was returning the baby back to the crib when she had finally caught sight of him.  
  
Her eyes. Draco had fallen out of love with her eyes first. Glistening, wide, and brown, her eyes were begging him for something he knew he wasn’t going to give her. With one pitying gaze of hers, he found that he couldn’t find it in himself to understand the woman who had threatened to throw his baby— his joy in the world, his only hope—out the fucking window. Another sickening tear fell down her cheek and Draco felt nothing but increasing anger as he recalled everything he had heard her say to his three-month-old baby.  
  
He gave her a look as well, a serious one that meant he was going to talk to her even if she didn’t want to.  
  
A sneer was curling upon his lips but he forced them into a more neutral appearance.  
  
Draco marched out of the room before she could say anything.

**. . .**

She met him in the kitchen, calm and silent, like she hadn’t cried at all. Good. Draco couldn’t stand the sight of her all pitiful like that.  
  
“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, nursing a glass of whiskey in his hand.  
  
Hermione shook her head, gulping audibly. “You don’t understand.”  
  
“Damn straight I don’t understand! In fact, I don’t want to fucking understand why you think throwing your daughter out the window is—“  
  
She cut him off with a finger pointing at his chest. “I wasn’t going to do that! You think I’m capable of doing that?”  
  
“I don’t fucking know!” he rasped. “Ever since you got pregnant, you haven’t shown at least a semblance of joy! If you hate her so badly then—“  
  
“It’s hard to be happy, Draco, you don’t understand!”  
  
“Do you think I give a shit if I understand you or not?” he raged. “You yelled at a three-month-old baby, you sick fuck!”  
  
Sadness clouded Hermione’s face as she broke down crying for what seemed to be the millionth time tonight. “It’s just so hard for me to—“  
  
“You think it’s been easy for me? I work 10 hours a day and come home to take care of Perdita, but I’ve never once thought of throwing her out the fucking house!”  
  
“I know that!” Hermione whimpered in despair. “Everyone told me that I’m supposed to be happy, that she’s a blessing, and that she’ll be the best thing that ever happened to me but she’s not—“  
  
“What?” Draco was perplexed. How could the greatest gift in his life not be the same thing for her? How could she look at the baby they’d made and feel everything except for love and adoration?  
  
“I just can’t stop thinking that maybe motherhood isn’t for me, you know.” Hermione sniffed, her eyes darting around the kitchen. “Maybe I wasn’t meant to be a mother because every time I look at her, I feel so helpless. I don’t know what to do with a child! All I know is working my arse off in the Ministry and that’s been taken away from me.”  
  
Draco cursed. “Blame the prejudice of the wizarding world for getting you fired! Don’t put the blame on your child!”  
  
“That’s not the point at all—“  
  
“Why can’t you just straight-up tell me—“  
  
“I’m saying that I’m different!” Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, a telling sign that she was uncomfortable and feeling vulnerable. “I don’t feel like myself anymore ever since she was born. I feel like I’m not good enough for her and—“  
  
“That’s true,” Draco spat, sneering. “You are not good enough for her.”  
  
Hermione winced at his words, and he felt a bit of satisfaction in his heart. “You don’t have to say that.”  
  
“And you didn’t have to scream your guts out at a fucking baby,” he spat. “Why are you being the morally-handicapped one? Why am I the one who is in the right? You’re the lawyer. You’re the one who memorized the laws. Why can’t you see that you’re wrong?”  
  
Hermione’s face fell even more, her hair seemingly getting frizzier by the second. She looked a mess. Good, she deserved to be in pain after what she’d tried to do to his daughter.  
  
“You don’t understand,” she breathed, her sobs coming out of her mouth as hiccoughs. Why was his anger worsening the harder she cried?  
  
Draco scoffed. “Fuck understanding. You almost killed my daughter.”  
  
“I would never do that!” she denied desperately.  
  
“No, you would just throw out a fucking baby and crush her skull.”  
  
“Draco!” she shouted, begging for something he couldn’t care to find out.  
  
“Would you enjoy that?” Draco mocked in a low whisper. “Would you have laughed as her blood cloaked the fields? Would you smile if she cried desperately for you, her mother who couldn’t give two fucks about her?”  
  
“I care,” Hermione persisted, “I do.”  
  
Draco bared his teeth at her, tears welling up in his own eyes but he made sure to never let them drip down. “You disgust me. How can you give birth to something as beautiful as Perdita and try to fucking harm her? She’s… she’s so fucking sweet and you don’t even give a shit.”  
  
“I love her,” she whispered, pleading with him through her bloodshot eyes. “You don’t know how much I love her, Draco.”  
  
Draco’s whole being was filled by wrath. It was almost amazing how much emotion she could invoke within him with one look. All he saw at the moment was burning red, all he could hear was the sharp whistling of the tense air around them, all he could smell was the alcohol on his puffing breath, all he could taste was the whiskey that left a burnt imprint in his throat, and all he could feel was the painful pulsing of his chest. He had last felt that when he was a teenager, in his fifth-year in Hogwarts, right before he had walked out on his parents.  
  
He wasn’t going to walk out on Hermione tonight, though, not yet. He was going to let her know how much he hated her first. He was going to hurt her, make her feel worthless, and throw their marriage into the dirt.  
  
He threw the glass of whiskey he’d been holding right in front of him, calming a tad bit when the glass shattered, the dark brown liquid splashing across his kitchen floors. Hermione flinched at the sound.  
  
“Don’t ever lie to my face again,” he hissed, every inch the serpent his parents had always wanted him to be.  
  
Hermione let out a loud sob that made his ears hurt. “I’m not lying, Draco. I love Perdita, I do, but—“  
  
“You were going to throw her out the fucking window, Hermione! When had that ever meant love?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” she snivelled. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t what to tell you, but I’m so sorry.”  
  
He stepped closer to her menacingly, his bare feet scraped by the glass lying in shards.  
  
“If you ever try to do something like that again, I’ll make sure she’ll never love you,” he threatened through gnashed teeth. “If you even hold her the wrong way, I will leave you and I’ll take her with me. You will never see us again, but I will ruin you.”  
  
Silence ensued and Draco found himself lost in her eyes once again. Not in a good way, though. He was entranced by her swollen eyes, her utterly drenched lashes, and the way her pupils glistened even more by the minute. Seeing her like this, watching her suffer, felt better than her kisses.  
  
This was the woman who had attempted to harm his daughter, the person who yelled at a baby without guilt. Because of that, he wanted to do worse things to her. He wanted to ram his fist into her face and break her nose. He wanted to kick her down until she couldn’t get up anymore. He wanted to kiss her hard, bite her tongue off, and bruise her lips. He wanted to bend her over the kitchen counter and show her how he treated those who tried to hurt his daughter.  
  
But he didn’t, of course. He had enviable self-control, and he didn’t want to admit that even now, even when he was practically exploding with rage, he still couldn’t find it in himself to hurt her.

Cruelty was a family trait, he supposed. It made sense for him to be so vindictive. It had hardly reared its head until now, but it had reacted to the image of Hermione holding his child at arm’s length explosively, and that was all he can feel.  
  
He clenched his fists, turning his back on his sobbing wife. He took hold of the neck of the bottle of whiskey he had placed on the counter and downed the fiery liquid like he couldn’t live without it. 

**. . . . .**

Draco found comfort in the never-ending paperwork his father continued to give him. It was a good excuse for not coming home early or not coming home at all. He was working late hours for Perdita. Every day, he was putting more Galleons in a vault that he had opened for her. He felt more refreshed in his office than in his own home. He relished in the respect his inferiors gave him. There was no stress in his office, no screaming matches, and no Hermione to ruin his day and life.  
  
He found love in the ceaseless amount of wine in the cellars beneath Malfoy Manor. He was convinced that aged wine was better than coming home and being drunk off his arse was better than seeing his wife. He couldn’t have problems if his mind was befuddled with alcohol, right? He couldn’t get angry when he couldn’t even think of anything comprehensible.

He hadn’t come home for three days now, and he hadn’t been sober since. He felt no guilt, no shame. The last three days had been the best he’d ever gotten for the past three years of his life. Alcohol did wonders to a problematic man. It made him numb to feelings and depressing shit. It made him smile genuinely with only six shots.  
  
Postpartum depression. What a vindictive bitch. After two months of crying, starving herself, and sleeping abnormal hours, Hermione finally sought out help. Some Mind Healer had told her that what she was experiencing was postpartum depression and that it wasn’t uncommon at all. That was six months ago. Now, she was taking antidepressants and having little-to-no trouble bonding with their daughter.    
  
Draco was the one who felt like utter shit now. He couldn’t come home and pretend he was happy. He couldn’t take the pretences and lies he had to go through every time he went home.  
  
Hermione would send letters to him frequently when he had been gone for too long. She urged him to go home, said that Perdita needed and missed him, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have any excuses or reasons, he just couldn’t.  
  
Or maybe, his reason was in the way Astoria Greengrass smiled at him every time she would submit some files to him. Had he mentioned that she was his secretary? No? Well, she was and she was amazing.  
  
Right now, she was sitting across from him, sipping from a glass of wine modestly. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she lightened up the room when she’d given birth to his future son. She was so beautiful—the most stunning person he had ever seen.  
  
Was it wrong to think of another woman as beautiful when his wife was waiting for him at home? Maybe. But it was hard not to fall when Astoria was the only one who cared enough to ask about his day, his problems, and his life at home.  
  
And when she gave him another heart-stopping grin, he couldn’t help but to close the distance between them and kiss her enchanting lips.  
  
The ring on his finger never felt as heavy as it did when she moved her lips in sync with his own. The weight made his finger hurt, his heart stomp, and his eyes weep. The kiss was better than anything he’d ever shared with Hermione. It was a magical moment in itself.  
  
She pushed him away with her hands roughly, and everything went back to him—the guilt, the shame, and the melancholy.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, his eyes wide.  
  
Astoria nodded silently in response. He couldn’t help but notice the way her hair moved with her head. He always noticed the little things with her and he wasn’t sure why.  
  
He needed to leave now.

**. . .**

When he reached home, the immediate thing he saw were the divorce papers sitting on the coffee table. The only two things he felt were bone-numbing tiredness—he was tired of everything, of Hermione and their fights, of the sham that was their marriage, getting drunk off his feet to forget every night—and relief.

**. . . . .**

“Draco, do you love me still?” Hermione suddenly questioned.

They had just finished signing every paper they needed to sign.  
  
Her question made him halt in his tracks, but he did not need to think about it. The answer was a bit complicated but it was clear, obvious even. He loved her in a way that exes love. He loved her in a way that fathers love the person who’d given birth to their children. He loved her in a way that he would never forget.  
  
“You know I do,” he muttered, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.  
  
“Do you?” she repeated. “Like before? Do you love me so much that you’re willing to fight against something inevitable?”  
  
“We can’t fight the Potion, Hermione,” Draco sighed.  
  
She smiled at him in a sad manner, in a way that would have broken his heart if she’d done it years ago. “I know. We were stupid. We should’ve stayed away from each other the moment we realized we weren’t meant for each other.”  
  
Draco let out a bitter chuckle. “We were in love.”  
  
“Not anymore.”  
  
“How could we be so foolish to think that two small people like us are able to change fate?” he questioned, defeat layering his tone.  
  
“We were in love,” she repeated his words. “I just regret that we dragged Perdita into this mess.”  
  
Draco nodded in agreement, making a face at his one-year-old daughter whose hand was being held by Hermione, causing her to giggle. “I can’t believe we wasted so many years kidding ourselves.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” Those two words comforted him, made him feel safe. It was the closest thing to ‘I love you’ she could say to him for he knew that she did not love him at this moment. They’d fallen out of love the moment they made his mother plan their wedding.  
  
“I’m sorry as well.” The apologies were also a farewell in their own terms.  
  
An ugly yet comfortable pause took over them before Hermione spoke up, “I have to go meet my mother now.”  
  
“Yeah,” he muttered, staring at his boots. “I need to go back to work, too.”  
  
“I’ll see you,” she greeted goodbye.  
  
Draco gave Perdita a kiss on the forehead before they walked off. Before they got too far, he heard her wail, so Hermione had no choice but to carry her. He laughed as he watched them walk away.  
  
He felt the first sign of a broken heart once they were out of his sight. Once Hermione was gone, his mind felt that it needed to remind him of all the happy memories he had with her. He saw their first kiss, somewhere by the Great Lake, and how prettily her cheeks reddened then. He saw the first time they had given in to heated desires. He saw their playful banter. He saw how much she could make him laugh back then. He saw her timeless beauty. He saw nothing but enjoyment and happiness in the beginning, and it made him wonder. She had been the cause of his joy for so long that it made him wonder: could he ever be happy now that she was gone?

He hoped so.

He really, really did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I got the story idea from my aunt and her boyfriend for 12 years! They eventually got sick of each other and separated as well. That's actually one of my biggest fears—to have a long-term relationship and watch as my partner slowly fall out of love with me.


	4. COMIAT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the very short finale! Hope y'all enjoyed this!

**PART FOUR: COMIAT**  
  
_Comiat_ — a song renouncing a lover 

**. . .**

Her eyes. Draco found himself leering at her eyes in amazement. Perdita’s bright and brown eyes looked so much like his ex-wife’s that he almost called her Hermione. It wasn’t just her eyes but her face and bone structure as well. The only thing she’d gotten from him was the blonde hair.  
  
He compared her features to that of the baby boy he was currently holding. Scorpius was all-Malfoy. He had blond hair like him, grey eyes like him, pinched nose like him, and a sharp chin like him. Perdita was a carbon copy of her mother, save for the blond hair, of course. Regardless of what they looked like, he was utterly grateful for both of them.  
  
“What House would you like to be in, ‘Byne?” Astoria, his darling wife, asked Perdita. ‘Byne was a nickname Astoria had given his daughter. Perdita more than loved it. Having mostly grown up in his home, Perdita grew fond of her step-mum. Their relationship was better than he’d asked for.  
  
“Ravenclaw,” his daughter responded with her Hermione-like grin.  
  
Draco snorted. “All Malfoys end up in Slytherin, you know.”  
  
“Well, mum said that I’m best suited for Ravenclaw,” she pointed out in that know-it-all tone he’d used to mock his ex-wife for. She did belong in Ravenclaw. She was smarter than he had been when he was at her age. With Hermione as her mother, he couldn’t act surprised. Perdita had learnt how to read by the age of five and because of that, her love for books was established. Hermione had gifted her books about basic incantations and spells when Perdita’s accidental magic surged. Draco mostly taught her how to play Quidditch and brew potions.  
  
“Perdita!” he heard someone call out from behind them. He turned his head to see that it was Hermione waddling over to them, Weasley trailing behind her.  
  
Hermione Granger-Weasley looked radiant in her 8th month of pregnancy. She’d once told him that Weasley was like a fresh breeze of air after their divorce. He had been there for her when she’d felt like she was alone. She had said that Weasley hadn’t offered any meaningful life advice. He’d only listened to her incoherent rambles when it was asked of him, stayed when she needed him to, and left when she told him to.  
  
Draco soon realized that was something he’d lacked in their relationship. He’d never really listened to her. He only did what he wanted or what he thought was best. He hugged her whenever she wanted to be alone and abandoned her when she begged for him to come back.  
  
Perdita’s expression brightened up when she saw her mum, her arms opening up to hug her instantly. When they met in a warm embrace, Hermione wept all of a sudden.  
  
“Mum? Are you alright?”  
  
“I can’t believe you’re already going to Hogwarts,” Hermione explained, her voice muffled in Perdita’s hair. “I’ll miss you so much.”  
  
“I’ll miss you, too, mum.”  
  
“Did you bring all your stuff?” Hermione inquired after they pulled away. “Your wand, textbooks, cauldron, and—“  
  
Draco saw his daughter roll her eyes. “Yes, mum. It’s all in here.”  
  
Hermione sniffed. “Make sure to owl us as soon as you get accommodated, okay?”  
  
“Yes, mum,” his daughter replied dutifully.  
  
“And no dating!” Weasley chimed in, sounding as protective as Draco would. Weasley and Astoria had no qualms about bonding with Perdita. They had been perfectly mature about the situation and accepted his daughter as their own.  
  
“I’m only 11, Uncle Ron,” pointed out Perdita. Even as a younger child, she had been ecstatic to have an extensive family. She had automatically called Astoria her ‘auntie-mummy’ and Weasley her ‘uncle-dad’ without him and Hermione knowing. She was loved, and he was so happy for her.  
  
Despite the pain both he and Hermione had gone through, Draco felt that all of it was worth it now. Perdita had a family that would do so much for her. They had gone through so much shit before and now, Perdita was happy, and every tear he had shed for her was finally worth it.  
  
“There’s plenty of 11-year-old boys in Hogwarts, too,” Weasley jested, a goofy grin present on his face.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, calm down. She won’t be thinking of boys when she’s busy studying for exams. Right, Perdita?”  
  
“Yes, mum.” His daughter smiled. “Boys are disgusting, anyway.”  
  
As if he had understood what his half-sister had just said, Scorpius let out a whine.  
  
Perdita’s eyes softened as she glanced at her baby brother. “Except for you, Scorp.”  
  
Astoria chuckled beautifully and proceeded to take Scorpius from his arms and into hers, whispering to the baby and quieting him down. It was her superpower, calming babies down. She was born to be a mother.  
  
They heard the familiar chime of the Hogwarts Express behind them. Perdita stared at the train with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.  
  
“11 years ago you were unable to walk,” Draco suddenly spoke up, heads turning to face him.  
  
“Don’t go all sad on me now, father.” It still panged him to hear her call him something as formal as ‘father’, while she called Hermione by ‘mum’. He did not know why. He felt like he failed in something while raising her. He had never once heard her call him ‘dad’ or ‘daddy’. Her first word had already been ‘pa’.  
  
Perdita went closer to him and gave him a hug. He clutched her to his chest, afraid that one day he would wake up old and grey and find her nowhere near him. He imagined what her graduation would look like. He wondered if he would be there to help her when she moved into her first house. Would he be there to walk her down the aisle when she was getting married?  
  
“I love you, Perdita,” he softly whispered into her hair.  
  
She turned up her head to look at him and smiled. “I love you too, father.”  
  
He tightened his grip around her one more time before he let her go. She made a move to enter the nearest carriage, but Hermione stopped her with another embrace.  
  
“I love you, baby,” Hermione whispered, tears dripping down her cheeks. “I love you. I love you. I love you. Don’t ever forget that I love you, okay?”  
  
He heard Perdita’s delightful chuckle and he almost pulled her by the elbow and Disapparated them from the platform. He couldn’t believe he was letting his lovely girl go.  
  
“I love you, too, mum.”  
  
He was so going to miss her. Where did time go? It all happened so quickly.  It was too fucking fast. Before he knew it, she was going to go home with a boy that would never deserve her and tell him that she was going to have a child of her own.  
  
He couldn’t watch her leave. Instead, when she finally entered the carriage and the train began moving, Draco stared at Scorpius. Soon, it was going to be his turn to ride that train. Soon, he would be left alone in his old mansion with no one to care for him.  
  
“She’ll come back, you know,” he heard Astoria’s sweet voice comfort him, reminding him that she would be by his side in his mansion when he was older. He was her true love and she was his.  
  
She was right, of course. Perdita was going to come back home by Christmas. He was going to savour every moment he would have with her from then on. He would make sure he wouldn’t regret a thing when it came to her.  
  
He glanced back at the train and caught a sight of her hand waving farewell at them. Joy immediately filled his heart. And even as tears welled up in his eyes as his daughter got farther away, he knew that this was his happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would, once again, like to thank my beta, ArabellaGaleotti. Darling, this fic wouldn't exist without you. Thank you so much for staying with me throughout this journey. And, of course, to the hosts of this wonderful Halloween fest—thank you! Keep doing what y'all do! 
> 
> Paalam! :)


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